e lad up in his arms.
Weariness and fright, thirst, the changed altitude, had overtoiled his
endurance. Sandy strode with him to the car and laid him on the
cushions.

"Git some water," he ordered Keith. "We've got no licker on the ranch.
Here's one of the times Prohibition an' me don't hitch."

Keith bent, opened a shallow drawer beneath the seat and produced a
silver flask. He unscrewed the top and poured some liquor into it. It
was Scotch whisky of a pre-war vintage. The aroma of the stuff dissolved
in the rare air, vaguely scenting it. The nose of the wooden-faced
chauffeur wrinkled. Sandy raised the boy's head and lifted the whisky to
his pallid lips, gray as his face where the flesh matched the powdery
alkali that covered it.

"Pinch his nose," he said to Keith. "He's breathin' regular. Stroke his
throat soon as I git the stuff back of his teeth. So. Now then."

The cordial trickled down and Donald's eyes opened. Almost immediately
color came back into his cheeks and lips and he tried to sit up. Sandy
helped him.

"Now, sonny," he said. "Tell us about it. How'd this happen an' where?
An' when, if you can place that?"

Donald nodded.

"Just a second," he whispered and closed his eyes. They were bright when
he raised the lids again.

"Whisky got me going," he said. "I'd have given a whole lot for that
flask two or three hours ago, Dad."

"Never mind the whisky, where did you leave Molly?" demanded Sandy.

"I don't know just where. I wasn't noticing just which way we rode. She
did the leading. I don't know how I ever got back."

"Didn't she tell you where you were makin' fo'?"

"She didn't name it. It was a little lake in some canyon where Molly said
there used to be beavers."

"Beaver Dam Canyon," said Sandy exultantly. "You left here 'bout seven.
How fast did you trail?"

"We walked the horses most of the time. It was all up-hill. And I looked
at my watch a little before it happened. It was a quarter of eleven.
Molly said we'd be there by noon."

"Where were you then? What kind of a place? Near water?"

"We'd just crossed a stream."

"Willer Crick, runs out of Beaver Dam Lake. You c'udn't foller that up,
'count of the falls. Now, jest what happened?"

"We saw some men ahead of us. Molly wondered who they could be. Then
they disappeared. We were riding in a pass and two of them showed again,
coming out of the trees ahead of us. One of them, on a big black horse,
held up his hand."

"Jim Pli